Mikiane.com suggests (en Francais) that the journalist is a DJ. I like that. It’s a bit less haughty than what I’ve been saying lately: The journalist is a curator. Curators work in stuffy museums where they control everything in sight and tell people where to go; they package their world, like a newspaper, in a box with a bow. DJs work in the cacaphony of a dance floor, which is more like life. It’s up to the folks on the floor whether to dance to the tunes the DJ sets.

The journalist is so awkward with music selection, that the folks on the dance floor choose to leave the building rather than stay around. No variety. No listening to requests from the crowd. The DJ wants to force the crowd into the DJ’s taste, and that pushy single-mindedness is what’s costing the DJ a living these days. Pity.

As expected, the Google robots make a mash of the translation, but my daughter used her Mad HS French Skillz to help ferret out this bit, which is true, but which is sure to piss more than a few investigative reporters off:

“This does not mean that the report or the investigation died, it simply means that this activity, extremely expensive, can no longer be their only activity. Exclusive content is a loss leader…”